


Of petals and blades

by JasperLion



Category: Fire Emblem Echoes: Mou Hitori no Eiyuu Ou | Fire Emblem Echoes: Shadows of Valentia, Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem 外伝 | Fire Emblem Gaiden
Genre: F/M, Gen, Post-Canon, Worldbuilding, there's timeskip snippets throughout the story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-03-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:15:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22861612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JasperLion/pseuds/JasperLion
Summary: Legends live and die, take shape or change form, breathe new life with exaggerated myths or the truth soon forgotten, leaving behind the shell immortalized in the minds of men.-The world riven by pride, two heroes work toward the future of repairing it as they will it. Not as what gods will it, but as humans taking up their paths.
Relationships: Alm/Anthiese | Celica
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	Of petals and blades

**Author's Note:**

> (This fic will start with a focus on direct post-game 'present day'. In each section/chapter, time will go by. It'll go from years to decades, to centuries on Valentia.  
> It starts to become more tale-esque later on the years as the perspective drifts farther.)

**(** _their hope lies in an ocean full of stars_ **)**

~

* * *

i. wyrmstym dusk's end

Emerging into the waning sunlight, the flaming crimson glitters off their glossy swords, basking the holy relics in the glow for the weary world to behold. Exhausted, triumphant smiles embrace their lips, their eyes set on each other while their hands intertwined tightly, enough to feel one another's pulses as their hearts beat as one.

The sunset spills the gods' blood of glimmering red onto the scarred earth and the quietened sea for the last time as their age concludes. The calm, seeping darkness would be the intermission, giving dawn to the new age of men with a morning glow over the snow-capped mountains of Rigel.

For many Rigelians, Flostym was merely another season of the long winter rather than one with bountiful of colorful blooms and fresh game in the wilderness to hunt to soothe their hunger. Rigel faced the most grueling winter in decades with famine and severe weather, the underground earthquakes would be a cause for many of the snow avalanches in the northwest.

It comes to the surprise of many when wild flowers blossomed overnight, defying traditional nature.

"Hey, look! There's a flower in the snow!" A soldier points out with utter disbelief and astonishment, a herd of leather boots kicking the powdery snow as they run over. They stand around in an irregular circle, the Rigelians more bewildered and apprehensive while the Zofians show being relieved and embracing of the oddity, thinking not much of it.

"There's more over there!" Scattered wild flowers growing out of the frozen ground, showing strong colors against the dulled white-gray and brown. More and more appear over the next several days as the snow rapidly melts, the strange occurrence is now said to be a post-mortem gift of the gods parting from their world.

For ten days, Rigel saw southern spring season where ice and snow melted, the ground warmed, never-seen-before wild flowers blossomed at nights, and a grand feast was held in celebration following the divine departure. On the 11th day of Flostym, the dubbed "Dragonia Moonflowers" wither and disappear as another snowstorm settles across northern Rigel once more.

-

Bandaged corpses were strewn everywhere. Many lives having been taken from war, starvation, sickness, and nature. Bodies of those kidnapped for ritual sacrifices were recovered for proper burial. The early, rare springtime when the snow melted served as a calm period of mourning for the dead.

"Ah... ah, it's time for farewells, then?" Clair sniffles, a poor attempt to hide with her handkerchief. Her heart aches in grief over her once dear childhood friend whom she loved to rile up in the past. Never had she thought to lose him in this way...

"Aww, come on... Don't cry! Okay, Clair? You shouldn't be crying over someone like him." The sorrowful expression shatters like glass, her mood painted with gloomier colors and Gray instantly felt regret over his thoughtless words.

"Wha- that's insensitive of you to say! Really, Gray, I expected better." Her soured tone came like a scathing burn as Clair turns on her heel, walking away with overflowing tears. Leaving Gray behind to stammer after himself, trying to find something to say to correct his previous statement.

"Umm, Gray! What a thing to say! Now you've made her cry." Tobin says, flabbergasted.

"Damn it, Tobe! I didn't want her to cry! ...Seeing her get all like that was making me sad, too... Uhh yep, I did fantastic at consoling her, huh?"

The snowfall's light and slow, melting into water as soon it hit any surface. The ever-present gusts are missing, now only a chilly breeze. The battle-batted warrior trudges closer, placing her hand on the small of her husband's back and gently clasping her hand on his slumped shoulder.

"...Clive, you have been standing out for hours. Please don't make yourself sick from the cold." The tone of voice sounds soothing, an uncommon thing to hear from Mathilda's usual nature. Clive barely glances with his exhausted, bloodshot eyes and he feels his heart heal only a tiny bit from his wife's caring warmth.

"...you're right, my dear Mathilda. I... apologize for worrying you." Clive relaxes his back muscles he wasn't aware having been tensed up, then looks over the coastal horizon to the low rumbling of the ocean's waves. Under the wispy white skies, it reflects on the silvery gray and white sea, calmly crashing the shore then back out to sea, carrying the souls of the dead away for their departure.

A speckle of a snowflake lands on the corner of Clive's eye, rolling down his cheek, leaving behind a faux-tear streak.

For a day of grieving in peace, it was almost too tranquil.

"Oh, big brother, Lady Mathilda! There you are! I was looking all around for you." The incoming footsteps were the opposite of feathery, a contrast for someone who's a rider of pegasi on these lands. Mayhaps it was not the bird she was inspired being like, but being as boisterous as a horse.

"Clair? Is Gray not with you?" Mathilda speaks up in a questioning tone, then she sees her sister-in-law's face visibly sour for a couple of seconds. Then it vanishes, shaking her head briskly.

"W-well, forget about Gray! I am positive he will apologize to my feet later... Anyway, where's Alm?"

"Ah, Sir Alm is—"

A figure clad in cobalt painted armor stands in the entranceway of a hidden passage within the Duma Temple, watching the priests carry a black iron coffin holding the body of a teenage male. With a daunt expression and a heavy heart, he still wishes for things to be different.

"Prince Albein." It takes Alm a moment to realize he's being addressed, and he peers over at the old man who was his father's captain guard and general.

"Massena... I'm still terribly sorry I couldn't save Berkut..." Alm bears the same sorrowful eyes as the day after Rudolf's death, the only difference being how fresh the grief had been compared to now, as it's been no more than a week since Duma got slain. The burden of not being able to fulfill his father's hope of saving his brazened nephew from going astray weighed heavily upon Alm's shoulders.

"No, Prince Albein, you must not hurt yourself with such heavy thoughts. It was a path Prince Berkut carved out in pride." Before Alm could respond, Masenna continues, "he may have departed from us far too soon, but we Rigelians are proud of him. His dedication struck true, and he more than anyone, even the Emperor himself, loved his country."

Even when the commonfolk were losing hope in their land's failing prosperity and their Emperor had secretly committed to the visage of there no longer be a "Rigel", Berkut continued believing in the purest form, staking and seeping his pride over the soil for what he was raised to grasp in his hands. The same hands he molded himself to be the ones of a king's.

Silence follows. A pair of watching eyes peer into the dimly lit darkness, the priests lowering the black iron coffin into the burial plot between his late mother and his fiancee. Due to Berkut's sudden death, the funerary priests rushed to re-open the royal tomb chamber deep within the temple, spending several days to prepare the burial in a ceremonial fashion, having been exhausted from going extravagant with Emperor Rudolf's death ceremony befitting of an ascended son of the war god Duma.

Something catches Alm's eye and he gasps lightly.

"Are those... paintings?" comes a quiet voice, only for Masenna to hear. 

"Oh, yes. They are murals." A twinkle in his eye, he lets out a low, short hum and steps into the holy vicinity. "As you bear the brand of Duma, it is proof of your royal heritage that you be allowed entry to your ancestors' sacred sanctuary."

"O-oh, um, I don't know if I should intrude in here..." A graveyard that only the royals could be laid to rest, their eternal peace forever undisturbed. What did Alm, highborn but farm-raised have any place in their royal tomb? Massena insists while reassuring Alm that it would do him good to show his face to his predecessors.

After a few moments of hesitation, he follows in at the man's beckoning, glancing around at the bright walls painted in mainly crimson and gold, as well as a variety of colorful hues.

Open-ended rooms lined one side of the wall with dividing walls in between, the decor is sparse yet telling of tales. Four grand thrones stood intimidatingly on the dais, each sat broad-shouldered great warriors basked in jeweled armor over their unrotted bodies and choice of remarkable weapons in gripped hands.

"Do not feel alarmed, prince. Duma once blessed thy ancestors with magic, bestowing their legendary souls with the power to cross the ocean to the dead world. Their positions were built to face the west sea to accommodate."

"Wow..." 

"It was the god's gift to each of the emperors for being the recognized icon of power within his domain. When he went mad, he lost grip of his own magic over time. This... was the last to go."

And now in the absence of Duma's blessings that immortalized their battle-hardened bodies in glory, the corpses will quickly degrade until there's nothing left but bones and metal. On the backs of each throne, the sigil of Duma glowed for decades, setting the back gold wall alight with the violet light.

Alm walks then kneels before his predecessor—his forefather, Emperor Rigel the First. The young conqueror meditates and offers his prayers.

Within the vicinity of Rigel I's open chamber, the empire banners and flags hang aplenty on the walls, signifying the founder of the now-dead empire. The mural high above on the back wall was sparsely painted, showing great developments of the architecture, new growth of centralized civilization, and the many trials of getting recognized as the first emperor.

The Second—his son—appeared to be an avid hunter. Grandiose spears, arrowheads, bear claws, ram skulls, an elk skull laid on both sides of the walls and the floor. The painting tells of a similar story, with the addition of being a frequent participant in the arena and game festivities, who likely lavished in his father's wealth and fame.

The next area would be a contrast to his extravagant predecessor. The writings on the walls describe the strife his weakening country was going through, the Duma Faithful having a stronger foothold in the court, peace talks with Zofia, and overall being more of a political-driven monarch. The mural showed an exchange between Emperor Rigel III and King Lima III, the former bestowing the Zofian royal family with the Rigelian royal blade.

The fourth and last Emperor—Albein Alm Rudolf the First—displays an even grimmer tale. Alm's heart sinks like the ship's anchor as he tries to hold his awed gaze upon his father, who still looked as mighty as the evening he died. The smell of the freshly painted gold lingers in the air. Within the chamber, writings and decors riddled the bare walls about Rigel's strife being ever more prominent and the troubles of keeping glory intact across the homeland. The mural in colors of red and green, much like the Third's, showed Rigel and Zofia, showed the man himself aged early thirties on the Rigel side handing a newborn over to another figure on the Zofia side—younger Mycen. The infant, Albein Alm Rudolf II, had been drawn directly over the middle line in both colors, symbolizing the unifier.

"That... image." Speechless, Alm did not expect to see that. He did not even know what to expect after gracing his eyes upon the first three murals telling of important events during the respective ruler's reigns, however, this one...

"Lord Rudolf commissioned it. He believed his life should only be remembered for his wish of unifying Valentia. ...Your father had heart, and now I can only see of him as a truly strong warrior. Oh, my old liege, you were not weak..."

As Massena's words start to quieten into a mumble with a saddened look, Alm turns and approaches to the farther side silently where the rest of the royals had been buried.

He stops in front of his cousin's.

Gripping his hand, the ring on his finger digs into his skin as he looks on with determination.

"Father... Berkut... I will carry on your dreams and unify Valentia into one kingdom. No matter how hard it gets on our own without the gods' blessings, we will grasp it and turn it into reality. Celica and I—and everyone."

-

The royal tomb closes up, never to be opened again. The four great emperors' treasury and grandeur would remain untouched in the icy mountain above the Duma Temple. Rumors persist that one could hear the distant howling of the spirits inside the catacombs.

Although the ten-day period of melted snow phenomenon did not last, the roaring blizzards ceased to ravage west Rigel, leaving behind in its' wake a calmer lengthened winter for the rest of Flostym. Warmer weather eventually follows at the spring thaw, they traverse from the icy, scarred highlands to the lush, flowery greens of Zofia.

* * *

~

 **(** _the dark age eclipsed by the new dawn; the wounded but free rise_ **)**

— **ƈ** σɳƚ.

**Author's Note:**

> Initially, this was going to be a long one-shot but I decided to have each timeskip snippet section be in installments instead. It'll help keep my mind engaged and get the writing out promptly.


End file.
